"We use your class," he said.
"Yes."
"You make it sound like a small thing." He did not move. "In my experience, the things people call simple cost the most once you are already inside them."
Her crimson eyes held his without apology. "You asked what the vision means. I have given you all that words can carry. If you want an answer with edges, my class is the only road left, and it is not worked at a distance."
He studied her while the quiet stretched. The windows were shut, the wards lay heavy in the walls, and the cold he felt owed nothing to the evening air. It was the plain unease of a man whose night had bent, step by step, toward a vampire proposing blood work in his bedroom.
"And what does your class ask of me." It was not really a question; he had followed her glance to his throat and knew the answer before she gave it.
